


Yoga

by HiddenKitty



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Modern Middle Earth, Yoga, modern Middle Earth races
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 12:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenKitty/pseuds/HiddenKitty
Summary: Bilbo gets sleepy at his yoga class.This little ficlet was based on the sketch below in one ofruto'sglorious livestreams and the conversations that accompanied it, with thanks toemsiecat,kettish, and everyone else who was there.  :D





	

It continued to be thoroughly unnerving to see his mother’s old friend, Dr Grey, attired in baggy jogging bottoms and a purple tie-dyed singlet, chanting in a language even Bilbo didn’t understand. The first time he’d come to the yoga class, it was in the hope that attending at least one session would persuade the old wizard to leave him alone about it.

To be a Professor was simply a stressful job, and the University where Bilbo worked had been designed by Elves and Men, so that even with numerous accommodations it could not be helped that the stairs were too tall for Hobbits, and the bathroom basins the wrong height. It did Bilbo’s back no good at all, already strained from long hours sitting at his desk, and his shoulders were permanently tight and painful. He was used to it by now. 

However, Gandalf was a very good teacher, and Bilbo could not deny that he slept better that night than he had in months. For curiosity's sake, he went back the following week, and soon enough found himself paying in advance for two months at a time, since if he was going to become a regular it seemed only prudent to take advantage of the discount. 

He found if he arrived early, he could set up his mat at the very back of the hall. The other students would turn up, cheerfully greeting one another and chatting, and Bilbo would frown to himself and do his best to look like he was focussing on his preliminary stretches, so that eventually even Lobelia gave up attempting to engage him in conversation. The only person who ever came near was the long-haired Dwarf with the short beard who invariably arrived at the very last minute, and who would set up his mat next to Bilbo simply because it was the last available space.

The Dwarf was the real reason Bilbo kept coming to the classes. He was a little older than Bilbo, judging by his streaks of grey, with a strong jaw and a sharp nose, and eyes as blue as forget-me-nots. He always attended alone, apparently concentrating solely on the class, his expression stern. When they did Pose of a Warrior, his arms were straight as a ruled line, the muscle of his shoulders and thighs bulging. When they did Pose of a Tree he wobbled hopelessly, scowling, and Bilbo watched him sideway from under his eyelashes, stifling the urge to giggle. When they did Bridge Pose, Bilbo couldn’t help noticing the glimpse of furry tummy above the stranger’s waistband.

At first the stranger had worn a t-shirt and jogging bottoms, much like the rest of the class. Once he had turned up in a tight pink singlet and what looked like fluorescent surfboard shorts, accessorised with a truly thunderous expression. More distressingly, he had recently taken to wearing bike shorts under his baggy t-shirt, revealing the sort of package that probably deserved a yoga mat of its own. It was all very distracting, and worst of all was the fact that after several months, Bilbo had yet to even speak to him, let alone anything more. Something about the majestic air that surrounded the fellow, even in bike shorts - perhaps especially in bike shorts - was just too difficult to approach.

It was now almost the end of the summer term. Exam season approached like the rumble of thunder on the horizon, and Bilbo was working later with every passing day. That Thursday evening, however, he packed up his books determinedly, changed in the staff room toilets and drove down to the Sports Centre as usual. The previous night he had marked practise papers until 2am, but a fellow had to draw the line somewhere, and on this he refused to compromise.

The air inside the hall was pleasingly cool, the old varnished boards under his feet smooth and comforting. Gandalf announced that the session would be a gentle one, mostly just stretches, and Bilbo could feel his heart rate slowing and steadying as he followed the old wizard’s lead, breathing into each gesture with relief. A good twenty minutes before the session usually ended, Gandalf wandered between the students handing out little eye pillows filled with lavender and wheat, and explained that they would be having an extended meditation. 

Obediently, Bilbo lay back and listened, although the chaff in the eye pillow made his nose tickle, and he discreetly slid it from his face after a moment or so. Gandalf’s voice was soothing enough.

His eyes were heavy, but it didn’t feel quite comfortable to close them entirely, and soon enough his gaze was drawn sideways to the handsome Dwarf. His pretty blue eyes were closed completely, thick dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, and a remarkably soft smile upon his face. Bilbo sighed, feeling strangely floaty and at peace. His own eyes fell shut at last, and he let Gandalf’s words carry him away.

Half-dozing, he could not remember the last time he had been so comfortable. The pillow under his head was the most perfect imaginable. It was firm, but cushioned, and very softly furry, rising and falling in almost perfect time with Bilbo’s breathing. It even smelled nice, not at all like the lavender pillow from Gandalf but more of an earthy, smoky scent. He rather liked the broad hand that was cradling his head, too. When his pillow began to move, he reached up instinctively to pet it, scritching his blunt nails gently through the short, thick hair and making quiet shushing noises. It seemed to work, and Bilbo snuggled up closer, laying his hand over a slow, thudding heartbeat and smiling to himself, utterly content. A faint, nagging thought in the back of his mind wondered why it had taken him so long to reach this place, but he disregarded it. Surely the fact he was here at last could be enough.

“It appears my relaxation methods have been rather effective!” said a voice, and Bilbo blinked, far from pleased to be roused from his rest.

“Bilbo,” said Gandalf, smiling down at him in a manner that was far too twinkly to mean anything good. “Allow me to introduce Thorin Oakenshield. Although perhaps you already know one another?”

Bilbo scrambled backwards at high speed, suddenly aware with horrifying clarity that he had cuddled up and fallen asleep upon a complete stranger, and in public, too. 

“Gandalf,” growled Thorin, sitting up equally suddenly. His voice was like dark chocolate sauce poured over icecream, and wasn’t that a thought to make Bilbo bury his face in his hands.

“Indeed,” replied Gandalf, still twinkling. Behind him the room was empty, and most of the lights had been turned off. Through the tall windows the sun still shone, but it was dropping in the sky and soon darkness would be falling. “I’m extremely sorry to have to interrupt, but the hall is only hired until 8 o’clock. We must be on our way.”

“Of course,” said Bilbo, gathering up his things as rapidly as he could and doing his absolute best not to even glance at the handsome stranger with the warm hands and beautiful voice who he now knew was called Thorin. It was a great shame that Bilbo was all paid up until the end of the month, since there was absolutely no chance he would ever come back to this class again.

“Now, let us not be too hasty. Perhaps you should discuss this over coffee,” said Gandalf smugly. “There’s a wonderful little cafe near here where I run a few classes for a friend of mine. It’s called The Last Om House. If you turn right out of the door, it’s down the second street on your left. I’d advise you to let Bilbo lead the way, Thorin, you do get lost so easily. It’s why he’s always late to class, you know.”

With a truly excruciating wink, Gandalf turned and sauntered away, leaving Bilbo gaping with shock at the wizard’s words. He turned to Thorin, screwing up his face with the effort to summon an appropriate apology.

Nothing came out. Thorin met his gaze from beneath gathered brows, but there was something oddly vulnerable in his expression. “Bilbo?” he said at last.

“Oh. Yes, that’s right,” said Bilbo, inwardly reeling at the sound of his own name pronounced in that bewitching voice. “Thorin, wasn’t it?”

Thorin nodded, and looked down at his bare feet. “I would like a coffee,” he said, flatly. “Would you… would you show me the way?”

Bilbo stared. “Um,” he said at last, feeling something warm and wonderful unfurling in his chest at the thought. “I. Yes. I mean. That. I don’t see why not. A coffee. My goodness. All right then, why not?”


End file.
